He scrambled into the tonneau and the chauffeur mounted his seat in front. The powerful engine began to throb.
“Where to?” asked the chauffeur.
“Albany,” replied Dan as the car started forward. “And there’s a fifty-dollar bill in it if we get there by four o’clock!”
Chapter VII
The End
Mr. Simon Leg arrived at his office early the following morning. After reaching home the night before he had stayed up for four hours working on his address to the jury, though he felt it to be a hopeless task, and when he did go to bed, he slept fitfully. That was the explanation of his red eyes and general appearance of discomfort as he opened his office door.
He found Miss Venner with her hat and coat still on, gazing at the cot in the corner.
“Where’s Dan?” demanded Mr. Leg, stopping short after a glance around.
“I don’t know.” The stenographer turned a troubled countenance on him. “He wasn’t here when I came in.” She pointed to the cot. “The covers haven’t been disturbed. I guess he didn’t sleep here. And the electric fights were all turned on.”
The lawyer grunted. “Strange. I left him here late last night, and he intended to stay then. There’s no message anywhere?”
“No, sir; I looked.” Miss Venner appeared to hesitate, then continued: “You don’t think — he’s done anything, do you, Mr. Leg? He acted queer yesterday. I know he felt responsible, somehow, about Mr. Mount. I... I’m afraid, sir.”
Even Mr. Leg, who didn’t pretend to be a student of human nature, realized suddenly that the quiver in the stenographer’s voice and the expression in her eyes betokened more than ordinary concern. He crossed over and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Venner,” said he. “Nothing has happened to Dan and nothing is likely to happen. He’s fully able to take care of himself, and someone else into the bargain.”
And then, as Miss Venner caught the significance of his last words and began to flush indignantly, he speedily retreated into the other room.
He looked through the drawers of his desk, thinking Dan might have left a message there, but there was nothing. He glanced at his watch; it was 8:20, and court was to convene at nine.
“I suppose I ought to go over and have a talk with Mount first,” he thought as he sat down at his desk and began to stuff some papers into a portfolio. “Poor devil! Well, we’ve tried, anyway. I wonder where the deuce Dan can be? At that, I’ve got a pretty fair speech here, though I don’t suppose it will do any good. It isn’t possible Dan has gone somewhere after — but there’s no use trying to guess.”
A little later he departed for the courthouse, leaving Miss Venner alone in the office.
The door had no sooner closed behind him than the stenographer rushed to the telephone and asked for a number.
“Hello, Mrs. Culp?” she said presently. “This is Miss Venner, at the office.” — “Yes. I... that is, Mr. Leg wants to speak to Dan.” — “He isn’t there?” — “I didn’t know, only he went uptown some time ago, and I thought he might have gone home.” — “You haven’t seen him for four days?” — “Yes, I know he has been sleeping in the office.” — “Yes, it’s dreadful; I’m so glad it will be over today.” — “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Culp.”
Slowly she got up and returned to her own desk, where she sat gazing at the cot in the corner. “I wish Mr. Leg never had got a case,” she said aloud vehemently. She took out her embroidery and started to work on it. The minutes passed draggingly. She felt that an hour must have gone by when the sound of chimes entered at the open window. “Good Heavens, it’s only nine o’clock!” she thought.
She went to the window and stood for some time looking down into the street far below, then returned to her sewing. Suddenly she stopped and gazed in astonishment at what she had done, then threw the thing down on her desk with a gasp of irritation. She had embroidered two whole figures on the wrong side of the cloth.
“I don’t care!” she snapped. “I don’t see how I can expect myself—”
She was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell.
She sprang to the instrument. “Hello.”
“Hello,” came the response. “Is this you, Miss Venner?”
“Oh!” The light of joy that leaped into her eyes! “Oh, Dan, it’s you!”
“Yes.” It was indeed Dan’s voice, eager and rapid. “Has Mr. Leg gone to court yet?”
“Yes, half an hour ago. Where are you?”
“Yonkers. In an automobile. I’ve got Patrick Cummings.”
“No!”
“Yes, I have. Found him at Albany. I got a call at the office last night, and I certainly didn’t lose any time getting there. Made it in a little over four hours. A fellow named Saunders, manager of a moving picture theater, had him locked up in his office. Saunders was certainly out for that five thousand, and he deserves it. I would have been down there when court opened only we were held up near Peekskill for speeding. Fool policeman wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“But, Dan, have you really got that Cummings? The right one?”
“I sure have. Listen, Miss Venner, here’s what I want you to do. Go over to the courthouse as fast as you can — take a taxi — and tell Mr. Leg I’m coming. Tell him to hold things off — put some more witnesses on, do anything — till I get there. I’ll come as fast as the police let me.”
“All right, I’ll hurry. Oh, Dan, I’m so glad!”
“So am I. Good-by.”
Miss Venner hung up the receiver and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, dancing with excitement, and her flushed and joyous face were good to look at as she ran to the closet and took down her coat and hat. Of course, she had to examine herself in the mirror above the washbasin, but nevertheless she was out of the office and on the street in less than five minutes after Dan’s last words had come over the wire.
She found a taxi in front of Raoul’s and gave the driver the address of the courthouse. North, they crawled on Broadway; the crowds of hurrying people on the sidewalk, the noise of the traffic, and the May sunshine, all answered to Miss Venner’s mood and made her feel that she was a part, and not the least important, of this busy world. She leaned forward and spoke over the driver shoulder:
“I’m in a hurry, you know.”
He nodded and made a quick turn to the left to get around a slow-moving truck. Skillfully and swiftly he made his way through Broadway’s crowded traffic as far as Grand Street, where he turned east, and after that it was easier. Soon he drew up at the entrance of a large, gloomy building whose granite pillars had been blackened by time.
“Thank you, miss,” said he, touching his cap as his fare alighted and handed him a dollar bill.
Inside the courthouse, Miss Venner was forced to ask the way of a uniformed attendant, who obligingly accompanied her up two flights of stairs and down a long, dark corridor, finally halting before a pair of double swinging doors bearing the inscription in plain black letters: “General Sessions, Part VI.”
“There you are,” said the attendant.
She pushed the door open and entered. At first she was bewildered by the unexpected spaciousness of the room as well as the throng of people — men and women — seated on the benches and chairs; but finally she saw Mr. Leg. He was standing at one end of the attorneys’ table, listening to a reply to one of his questions from the witness in the chair, who was a young woman in a blue dress.
Miss Venner timidly made her way up the aisle, feeling two hundred eyes staring at her, and through the little swinging gate in front of the public benches. There she halted, hesitating, wondering what would happen to her if she dared interrupt Mr. Leg while he was examining a witness. Finally she sat down at the table, on which were lying some scattered sheets of paper, pulled a pencil from her hair, and scribbled a few lines.